If I Should Fall From Grace
by Xia Momo Capernicus
Summary: Reid's thoughts on his addiction. Mention and presence of NCIS characters and reference to an episode of ER. Themes of self-harm, drugs and addiction.


Prompt: 'wavy'

From: light within the shadows

Word count: 2216

Rating: OT

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Reid, McGee, Gibbs, Rossi.

A/N: AU. So there is a slight crossover with NCIS, but you don't need to watch that show to get the gist of the theme. I also make reference to an episode of ER… but I will try and explain it as best I can. If you want the full power of it though, I suggest you watch the episode or at least the clips relevant (and there is a youtube video that has them). Sincere apologies for the mindfuck guys. I sort of ramble on here.

"Wavy"

I held the vial, adjectives seeming very important the way they can only in dreams. The word that struck me the most was wavy; the contents were wavy, liquid escape splashing up the sides of the glass to find itself. With a breath, the lid disintegrated and the clear fluid stretched out, filling the surrounding space rapidly. Suddenly, I was floating and then fighting to breath, as the sea of Dilaudid tried to pull me under. The two main thoughts going through my head were "I don't want to die" and "wavy, it's so wavy…"

"Hey! Reid!" the voice called me, and in the purgatory that existed between consciousness and sleep I was unsure if it was real or not. A warm hand shook my shoulder roughly, and I fell back into reality with a snap.

I opened my eyes, confused for a few seconds until I locked on and registered the other presence in the room. It was Gibbs, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

"You always talk in your sleep?" he asked quietly, now trying not to scare me after my post-sleep panic.

I blushed, grateful that the light was such that he couldn't see my darkened cheeks. "Sometimes." I managed. We had met Gibbs' team several months ago, and since then we had worked together on several cases. The directors of our agencies were of course thrilled with the cooperation, and we weren't exactly complaining either. Once Gibbs got over the fact that we were not in fact fighting for the lead, and we were just there to help he was happy to have us. Despite all this, I was still a little scared of him though. Hotch could be a drill sergeant, but Gibbs had an actual military background.

He nodded, and I hesitated to ask what I had said aloud in the throes of fitful sleep. I couldn't decide whether I really wanted to know what he had heard. I would wonder if I didn't ask, but if I knew there was a great possibility and probability for embarrassment.

Before I could make a decision, he spoke again. "Ships give lots of people nightmares. Just be grateful you're not stuck in the head all night like McGee." I didn't bring up the fact that nightmares found me no matter whether I was at sea or not. My lips twitched at the mention of McGee's sea sickness- and even as a genius I can't figure out for the life of me why he chose NCIS.

I shifted, realizing at his mention of the head that I had to answer nature's call. Casting off the damp sheets (thank you sweat), I mumbled a thank you to Gibbs and exited swiftly, grateful that I didn't have to look at those knowing eyes anymore.

Padding softly down the hall, I thought about the events that had transpired in the last few months. We had forged an improved line of communication and camaraderie between our agencies, and eased some of the tension between them. Not to mention the new friendships that had blossomed for those directly involved. I had become fast companions with Tim and Abby. Tim more so simply because we shared something that the others didn't have- a habit.

I had Dilaudid, and he was a cutter- though I should phrase that in the past tense. I've been clean for over a year now, and Tim has been- well, not cutting. He's the writer, I'm sure he could come up with some creative term to describe his status.

Speaking of Tim being a writer; we both attend meetings, ones that cater to all sorts of addictions. They're a little more personal then AA in that there are less people and more shrinks. They have us do different exercises, and they usually involve writing something. I suck at the creative stuff, but Tim's brilliant. We often joke that he's got enough talent for both of us. Unfortunately, he's so brilliant that what he writes usually sticks. Normally I don't mind, but sometimes the exercises work too well. Like last week, the exercise was to take a prompt and relate it to our addiction. The prompt was 'wavy', and his piece was amazing; I of course, couldn't think of what to write. Carey, the lady who runs it kindly gave me until the next meeting to do it. I guess now I had something to write about. I'd have to thank Tim for his inspiring piece later.

_The fan buzzed, comforting back round noise in the basement of the office building. Tim glanced around the clinically white table nervously, at the impassive faces seated there. The company that allowed them the use of their building once a week kept the room clean, but bare so that as he looked around all he had to focus on were the faces in front of him. _

_Clearing his throat, he looked at his friend Reid, who smiled encouragingly. Tim was grateful for his presence there, his support much needed after his addiction stole whatever self confidence he had managed to gain since high school. Tony always told him that he was being ridiculous, with the millions of dollars under his belt from his book sales, but Spencer just shared a look with him, one second of eye contact telling him the he knew how he felt. _

"_Wavy." He began, pausing for effect. The first word was always the hardest, and after that he lost himself in the piece and let it flow through him. "The blade is there, silvery with the light shimmering off the rippling edge. The light catches, glinting in every dip and curve. The ridges are akin to the ocean, wavy and choppy. I imagine the waves licking up the shore, as the blade licks across my skin. The waves of the tide hiss as they flow back down off the beach, and I echo the sound as the waves of the steel cut my arm, and blood flows down my arm." He stops, coming out of his spell to gauge the reactions. As always, they are awed. As always, they are glad they do not have the writer inside them, narrating every shameful act with such seductive words._

Thinking back, it wasn't surprising that here on the ocean, Tim's words struck me hard. I tried to push them from my mind as I relieved myself, not wanting to associate my philosophical thoughts with this. I thought "towel" over and over until I was done. I scrubbed my hands clean, and left the small room. I paused in the hall, and decided that I wasn't quite ready to go back to my room just yet. Not that I was afraid of Gibbs still being there, but I wasn't ready to succumb to sleep again quite yet.

I climbed through several sets of stairs to get to the deck. The lone sailor on watch nodded politely, unconcerned with my presence. Looking up at the star strewn sky, it was easy to see why. I walked across the deck, enjoying the cool shivers I felt as I walked barefoot. I reached a rail on the bow, leaning leisurely on the metal with my forearms. The wind played softly with my hair, blowing strands into my face. I brushed them back absently, breathing in deep the smell of brine. I gazed out over the water, the moon casting a distorted reflection on the waves. For a brief moment a feeling of panic, remnant from my dream surfaced, but the dream feeling was pushed under by the real feeling of peace and serenity that pervaded my being now.

It was times like this, where nature seemed to radiate beauty and stillness that made me think. It peace allowed a freedom that my mind could utilize, to open doors that would remain shut in my normal life. Not that I was afraid to open said doors, but it requires a lot of mental effort to think so deeply.

The scene also gave those philosophical thoughts more power. Sometimes, sensitive emotional guys like Tim and I feel like it's too much, and we have to numb ourselves because we feel too much. Other times, we maximize those feelings because they remind us that we are truly and gloriously _alive_.

Maybe that's why I didn't mind when Rossi showed up. "Gibbs said you wanted to talk." He told me, and I turned to look at him. He stated it casually, and his expression matched that. I noted ruefully that he had worn shoes up here. He didn't say anything about my uncovered appendages, unlike Hotch would have. It's funny how we've categorized Hotch as "Dad" and Rossi as "Mom," but sometimes they are so much the opposite role. Hotch is the mother hen, and Rossi's the one you go to to ask permission to do something fun.

"I didn't." I reply, and if there was an emotion to describe shaking your head, that's what my voice was. "That's like him to infer that." I noted, voice devoid of anger. I wasn't really annoyed that he'd told Rossi.

"He's a smart man. The whole "trusting your gut" thing seems to work pretty well for him." Rossi observed. "So you didn't say it out loud. Doesn't mean you don't want to." I shrug, unsure of what to say.

"I'm not really sure what to say." I tell him.

He nods, moving to join me at the rail. He casts his gaze like a net over the ocean, and I can tell he appreciates the view too. I turn back to the panorama, and we spend a few moments in companionable silence.

Then a splash disrupts the quiet, and I jump. Rossi doesn't even flinch, but we both stare in wonder at the whale that has risen. Facts and statistics spring into my mind, but I don't want to ruin this moment. The whale expunges the water, a geyser shooting up from its back. When the ritual is done, it effortlessly heaves its bulk over and down, and it's gone.

"Graceful." Rossi murmurs, obviously impressed.

"Ah, would that I had that grace." I said ruefully, referencing my usual clumsiness. Rossi chuckles at this, and we lapse into quite again. I let my mind drift, Rossi's comment reminding me of something.

McGee had forced me to watch an episode of ER with him once. I loved the title before we even began watching. Some phrases have power even by themselves. The title was "If I Should Fall From Grace." McGee didn't need to explain to me the clever word play as the episode went on. I soon discovered why he liked it, as he could relate to one of the patients. Her name was Grace, and she was a cutter. She denies it at first, but as the episode goes on one of the doctors (a former drug addict) finds the truth. Needless to say, he put a psych hold on her. I was impressed by the girl's acting, backing up against the wall screaming "No please, you'll ruin everything!" I didn't miss Tim pushing back against the couch in empathetic horror. After, he looked me straight in the eye and all he said was "Worst. Nightmare."

Ever since then, I think back to that episode. Though the addiction isn't the same, the words still hold power for me, and I can still relate to Grace. My reputation, my position, my credentials, and my life are all concerned in the unspoken half of that sentence. I keep hoping that there's another half, another ending to a sordid story.

Rossi speaks again, breaking me out of my pondering. "So you've been struggling huh?" he asks, and for a moment I wonder if he's talked to Gideon, because that was the word I used when I tried to explain things to him. Then I reminded myself that Rossi hasn't talked to him in years, and it's a fairly common word (and certainly relevant).

"I guess." I say vaguely. _Um, resounding_ _Yes. Everyday I try so hard to not break down, to just stay alive. _

"Gibbs said you were having a nightmare."

"Yeah." _You could call it that. I think visiting my own personal hell is a bit closer to the mark, but yeah, nightmare works. _

"You wanna tell me what it was about?"

"I was drowning." _Doesn't take much dream interpretation. I dreamt that my drug, my addiction was out of control and killing me. Don't really need Freud, Jung or you to figure that out. _

I think he realized that I was reluctant to elaborate. "Alright. You don't have to tell me. All you need to know is that if you ever want to, I'm here." He looked at me with intensity, eyes demanding and begging that I understand.

I nod, only saying "I know." And only needing to say it. He must have thought I was crazy, because I lent back over the rail with a small, but a genuine smile on my face.

Because I had the second half of the maybe not so sordid story, a life preserver to help me swim in my Dilaudid sea. _If I should fall from grace… then there will be someone there to help me climb back up.._

~Fin.


End file.
